I can’t even go about figuring out how to fix things… I always fill my personal relationships with more than they can hold. It seems great, it seems like there’s enough room, but then as I’m putting stuff in I see that suddenly, the meniscus bursts open on the top and rivulets pour like tears down every side of the glass.
This space is supposed to be about me, not the array of people that float in and out of my life. They are arranged interestingly, but that’s what I do. Place people in patterns and revel in the chaotic beauty. It’s cruel, but I swear it’s harmless. Humans are meant to handle so much more hardship than a broken heart or some hurt pride. It honestly hurts *me* that this is truly so inconsequential.